


A Single Word

by neverlandlumos



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:53:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverlandlumos/pseuds/neverlandlumos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Thorin explains his love for Dwalin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Single Word

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [A Single Word (Chinese Version)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/897574) by [d7b7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/d7b7/pseuds/d7b7)



> neverlandlost.tumblr.com

There’s a comfort in Dwalin’s bulk that Thorin could never really understand. He matches Dwalin in height, he is no wee lad in terms of his own musculature, but Dwalin positively engulfs him with his own body and Thorin _craves_ it. He’s watched as Dwalin has grown and gained strength since they were young dwarves, now a strong, proud dwarf and he will not deny their feelings run far deeper than the cover of a friendship.

Dwalin is loyal and fiercely protective, and Thorin’s heart swells every time Dwalin cares for him, fusses over him. He needs Dwalin, and he needs Dwalin’s assistance and he needs Dwalin’s love. Though a chain of thought he would most unlikely ever admit out aloud, it lingers in his gaze, in his body language and Dwalin knows. But as they age, grow wiser and hardened by war, he hopes Dwalin knows. He hopes Dwalin knows that he loves him.

He figures it was enough when they were young, leaving their mutual feelings to assumption. Dwalin was his appointed guard, who watched over his erratic behaviour, laughed at his jokes and misdeeds, ensured he was well fed and rested in bed by the evening. He’d hoped Dwalin would stay beside him as he outgrew the need for a guardian, as it was no longer a duty upon Thror deciding Thorin could take care of himself. He’d become best friends with Dwalin, or something of the sort. Thorin relies on no one, but he relies on Dwalin. Dwalin stayed, and Thorin’s love for Dwalin solidified, became stronger to the point it almost become unbearable to be apart from him.

Thorin is no fool; he knows the rumours and he knows what people whispered of him. When they were younger, the chatter amongst the dwarves was always changing, though one thing always remained the same. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, was skilled, a born leader, fair though stern, but arrogant, hotheaded and wore a shield over his emotions like their strongest armour.

Dwalin knows different, like he always has.

He wept for Frerin, uncaring, the pain of loss a dull ache that became all consuming. He wound himself around Dwalin, who was forever patient, forever understanding as he rubbed a comforting hand over Thorin’s hitching shoulders. He dips his head in shame at the tears that run down his cheeks, and Dwalin lets him for some time, though Dwalin informs him, with a firm hand under his chin, his tears are _just_ , and Frerin deserved to be mourned, as does Thror, as does Thrain.

Thorin has suffered many losses, but he is clever enough to know he wouldn’t be who he is today without Dwalin’s comfort, his understanding nor his patience.

He makes Dwalin promise to never leave his side, a silly and unwise request, considering their lifestyle and Thorin’s kingship. Dwalin indulges, murmuring his loyalty into Thorin’s ear, the rumbling of his voice soothing Thorin’s tears to a gentle sniffle. Thorin closes his eyes as he rests his head against Dwalin’s shoulder and breathes. Dwalin’s scent is in his nose, and around him and it offers a comfort no other can, the strong, now tattooed arms sheltering him from the world, from further harm.

Now, at Beorn’s housing, the hospitality is both much needed and generous. He sits outside with Dwalin, who gazes at the stars, humming around his pipe, he and the company fresh from their bathing. Thorin’s eyes shift and land on Dwalin’s profile, peering at the scars that linger on the warrior’s skin, the orc-bitten ear, the tattoos on his skull. He moves closer to Dwalin, who raises an eyebrow at the open display of affection, but rests his left hand on Thorin’s waist, pulling him close.

“I love you,” Thorin murmurs against his neck, lips brushing over the skin in a kiss. He feels Dwalin’s pulse against his lip, feels the thudding increase at his words.

“Aye,” Dwalin replies slowly, “an’ I love you.”

Thorin has never uttered the words to anyone, save his brother and sister, and his father when Thorin was young, he is almost unsure of how to feel now that his love for Dwalin is both reciprocated and _expected_. Dwalin is not at all surprised by the confession, from what he can tell, but more so at the fact they are even _speaking_ of it. The warrior just adjusts in his seat, easily winds his right arm around Thorin in a complete embrace.

He is cradled against Dwalin’s chest and Thorin feels himself grow weak, a faint blush grows on his cheeks as he remises about their past together, eager and uncoordinated sex from their adolescence, growing to become more passionate and loving as they have aged. He flickers over memories of visiting the armoury Dwalin worked at, walking together around the marketplaces, eating stolen baked goods from the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning. Thorin misses the sex, he will not deny that, but finds he misses the more ‘relationship’ type of behaviour and finds himself confused by a strange emotion: missing someone who is right next to you.

He vocalises the sentiment anyway. “I miss you.”

“Aye,” Dwalin says again, meeting Thorin’s eyes with a wink. “An’ I miss you.”

Thorin remains silent, resting a hand on Dwalin’s belly.

“Always, yes? Just like you promised.”

Dwalin frowns in confusion and kisses him quickly, seeming to realise that Thorin is beginning to show some sentimental neediness towards Dwalin, an emotion Thorin’s never shown. It takes Dwalin a second to realise that his King is clutching at him, eyes growing suspiciously wet as he awaits Dwalin’s response.

“O’ course, Thorin. Always, jus’ like I promised ya,” he says, cupping the back of Thorin’s neck and kissing the crown of his head. He rests his chin there when he feels Thorin sag in his arms, hand bunching the fabric of Dwalin’s tunic that covers his stomach.

They remain silent for a long while, and when Dwalin lifts his head to speak, he smiles when he realises Thorin has fallen asleep, soft snores emitting from the King, his hair now messily strung over his face and concealing his features. He pushes the strands aside to kiss Thorin’s cheek and shifts, so Thorin’s body is no longer taut and contorted uncomfortably. 

Dwalin’s heart swells in his chest when Thorin utters a single word in his sleep: _Dwalin._


End file.
